


Women's Troubles

by Wikketkrikket



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Earth-3490, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fem Tony Stark, General Awkwardness, One-Shot, PMS, PTSD, Periods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wikketkrikket/pseuds/Wikketkrikket
Summary: Earth-3490. Being held captive in Afghanistan would have been bad enough, but without any access to the pill or sanitary products, it was hell. And maybe Natasha Stark should have admitted to someone sooner that she was struggling to deal with her periods even now, because anything would be better than this- sending Captain America out to buy your tampons.





	Women's Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been sitting unfinished on my laptop for years, and every now and then I add a little more. Well, today was the day to finish it! I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> (No proof reading has been done at all because I am super lazy, so please be kind. XD)

Women's Troubles

 

The truth was, she needed to pee. Natasha Stark had a bladder of steel; it wasn't often that she needed to go, but there was no use denying it. Right then, she needed to go bad.

But she wouldn't. Not until the last possible moment, because there might be blood.

No. There wouldn't be blood. It had only been twenty-two days, right? Twenty-three, max. Then again, she had been working a lot on a project lately, and the days tended to blur into one, but it couldn't be that time again, it was too soon-

She remembered the bucket in the corner of the cell being kicked over, splashing onto her shoes. The room had stunk - even more than before - for days. _Disgusting. Dirty_. She pressed the cushion tighter onto her stomach, willing the pressure to confuse her bladder into thinking it was empty. Her stomach cramped in protest, her insides shifting. _No_. Her breath caught, she exhaled too loudly.

'Natasha?'

She jumped, suddenly throwing the cushion guiltily away from her, sitting up. The movement was a mistake. She needed to pee, _now_. But there was no way she was barging past Cap to get to the bathroom, not with him standing there looking so... _politely concerned_. She squirmed, trying to disguise it as an elegant motion and not succeeding.

'Are you alright?' Steve asked, coming closer. 'You sort of sounded like you were in pain. Are you hurt?'

'I'm fine, Cap.'

'If you're fine, why are you lying on the couch moaning instead of blowing things up in the lab?'

'Um, who owns this couch? And this tower? I can lie around moaning where I like.'

She willed him to go away. She needed to use the bathroom - better to know the worst now. Unfortunately, Steve did not pick up on her desperation; or at least not far enough to realise he ought to go. Instead he sat down next to her.

'Just tell me what's wrong. There's no point trying to hide it if you're hurt.'

Natasha sighed, loudly. She just needed him to _go_ , now, and there was one way to get rid of a man it was to tell the truth. 'It's girl trouble.'

Steve looked slightly stunned, and then hurriedly tried to hide it. It didn't work. 'Oh,' he said, swallowing. 'You mean, you have a girlfriend?'

Natasha wanted to hit him. 'No! Lady problems!'

Steve still looked baffled.

'The time of the month!'

He looked confused, and then, suddenly, it clicked. Natasha could tell he had finally got it because of how awkward he suddenly looked. 'Oh, you mean... women's... sorry. Can I help?'

'No!' She'd had enough, and her bladder was actually _prickling_ now. Was that possible? Was it going to burst? She was not going to die because of her own urine soaking into her blood stream. She stood up, trying to ignore her stomach screwing up in pain as she did so. 'I have to pee,' she said, for no real reason, shoving past Cap's legs and making a beeline for the bathroom.

A few moments later, she was relieved, and flushed while looking at her own pale, pasty-looking face in the mirror so there was no chance of having to see anything. Her underwear was still clean, thank goodness, but Natasha was no fool. It was coming. She already felt dirty, super aware of the rotten flesh inside her just waiting to come out.

 _No_. She wasn't going to go through this again. Not this month. This was the month she was going to handle everything fine, finally get her act together enough to go back to the doctors and get a new supply of contraceptive pill - or better yet, a hysterectomy. She would go. She would talk to her doctor. She just needed a tampon first, and then she was good to go. There was a box in the bathroom cupboard left over from last time, she had regularly opened the door over the last few weeks just to make sure it was still there and it was.

The box was there. But as she took a deep, steadying breath and felt inside, it was empty. Her period was starting and she didn't have anything to stop it with. _No_.

Panic, which had been barely held back, burst through the dam and overwhelmed her, drowned her. She couldn't do this. She couldn't do this. She couldn't do this.

 

 

*

 

Here's the thing- Natasha Stark had never been the kind of girl to complain about her period.

Sure, it was annoying and painful, ridiculously impractical in evolutionarily terms, and if it had happened to men medical science would have found the off-switch years ago; but Natasha Stark wasn't going to let it stop her. She took painkillers, took the pill, managed her periods just fine. Work saw her through, or ice-cream where that failed. If she ever found it hard, she didn't let it show. Natasha Stark just got on with life, no matter what punishment her uterus was trying to inflict on her.

But that was before Afghanistan. Before she was kidnapped and held hostage. And here's the thing about kidnappers - they aren't particularly concerned with their hostage's sanitary hygiene or providing her with tampons, towels, or access to contraception. Really, Natasha supposed she ought to just be grateful that she hadn't been raped; but frankly she wasn't surprised they weren't tempted.

Two days into her captivity, she had got her first period. She had been groggy then, still reeling with the effects of the newly-installed magnet in her chest, but not so groggy she didn't try to demand tampons. They beat her so badly it was days before she could stand for more than a couple of minutes.

After that, as if getting used to the indignity of pissing into a bucket whilst Yinsen awkwardly averted his gaze wasn't enough, she had to try to deal with the horrors of bleeding freely without so much as a change of clothes available. Eventually she found some rags to stuff into her underwear, trying not to think about what was on them, trying to rinse them off at the end of the day with the smallest bit of their precious drinking water.

It was horrible. It was the most disgusting thing she had ever had to deal with. She became detached from it; the only way to deal with it was to pretend it wasn't happening.

But four weeks later, it happened again. She had still felt dirty from the last time, but had subsisted on the idea that she wouldn't have to go through it again. But she did, and this time was worse. She reeked of blood, with no way to get clean, and the guards called her _filthy_ and _disgusting_ and they were right; and when the piss-bucket was full of blood, instead of taking it outside to empty it they kicked it over and it went everywhere.

One week later, she finally got out.

The press conferences and interviews that followed always asked her about how 'traumatic' it had been, how she had coped, danced around the 'were-you-raped' question with varying levels of finesse, but the truth was the kidnapping and the cave and the danger, even the murder of poor Yinsen, were not as hard to cope with as the periods. She couldn't tell the press about it. She couldn't tell her therapist or her doctor. She couldn't even _think_ about it.

Which is why, months later, she still wasn't back on the contraceptive pill; because thinking about _anything_ to do with periods was impossible and which was why she didn't have any tampons. She couldn't face going into a store and buying them. Jarvis could have ordered them, but even saying the word - even alluding to it - made her feel sick, made her feel like she would die. He had asked her if he should put them on the automatic ordering list, and she had explicitly said no - explicitly told him not to order them unless she said so - because the idea of _anything_ to do with periods _arriving unexpectedly at her house_ \- no. No, no, no. She needed to gear herself up for that. But now, here she was, with no tampons.

It was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous. Every other element of her life, she'd gotten back on track. She'd completely rebranded and refocused her company and it was a bigger success than ever. The Iron Woman was a hero on a national and international scale. She'd helped found the Avengers, bring them together, and built a sweet tower for them all to live in. No-one could say that Natasha Stark had not survived and thrived since the kidnapping.

Except for once a month, when Mother Nature came calling and here she was, sobbing in the bathroom, desperately throwing things out of the cupboard in the hope that a solitary tampon could be found. She couldn't go to the store bleeding everywhere, everyone would know. Even Jarvis' best orders wouldn't come through until at least tomorrow- no, it was already night, they wouldn't get the order until the morning and it wouldn't arrive until the following day. She was going to be trapped here in the bathroom, bleeding, constantly showering to try and avoid any of the grossness getting onto her skin-

'Natasha?' It was Steve, sounding awkward, knocking softly on the door.

'What?' She screamed. She didn't mean to scream.

'I just wanted to check you're okay. I mean, I don't know how long... uh, how long these things take, but it's been a while and I heard crying-'

Natasha rubbed her face. It was wet.

'And it sounded like things were getting thrown around-'

The contents of the cupboard were strewn across the bathroom floor.

'So I just wanted to... check.' Steve finished.

It suddenly hit Natasha how stupid she was being, how ridiculous. It wasn't just her and Jarvis any more, she lived in a tower full of Avengers; any of whom could make the journey to the all-night store on the corner. There was a slight chink of light in the darkness.

'Is Widow here?' she asked, hopefully.

'Uh, no, she's overseas with Shield. I could maybe call her?'

Natasha took a deep breath. This team really needed more gender representation. But Clint was married, right? He was probably used to buying tampons. He probably did it all the time. 'Clint?'

'With Tasha,' Steve said. 'We're the only ones here right now.'

Natasha did _not_ want to ask Captain America to do a tampon run for her. Not in the slightest. She wasn't even sure she physically _could_ ask. But as her stomach clenched painfully again, desperation made it clear there was no other choice.

 

*

 

Honestly, until Natasha asked him in a mortified whisper through the bathroom door to go out and buy tampons, Steve had not connected them to _women's trouble_. He hadn't given it much thought, but he had vaguely assumed they were some sort of female equivalent to a condom.

He felt rather stupid, but it wasn't like he'd had much experience. In the 40s, _nobody_ talked about it. He had been in his twenties when it had finally occurred to him that his mother's end-of-the-month 'headaches' were probably not headaches at all. At thirteen, Bucky had told him about how ladies got 'monthlies', but Steve hadn't really been sure whether or not to believe him. It had sounded so strange, almost unearthly, the idea that women- all women- were secretly bleeding once a month but going about their business without a word. He'd half-suspected that Bucky was making up stories to gross him out again, except after that he had started to notice women in the drug store asking for 'you-know-whats' or 'supplies' and being discreetly passed packages already in paper bags. He had no idea what was inside the mysterious packets, and neither had Bucky. They'd tried to find out once, Bucky cheekily telling the druggist his Ma had sent him to get her 'you-know-whats' and getting a clip round the ear for his trouble.

Their generation had been slightly more open about the situation. Before war came, when the main priorities in life were getting a job and getting a girl, Steve and Bucky had both been turned down on more than one occasion because the girl had _women's trouble_. Steve hadn't been entirely sure what that meant, and was too embarrassed to ask. It would have seemed rude to, and dangerous. Like invading women's territory.

He'd only heard of tampons since coming to the future and seeing adverts on the television, which all seemed to feature young, attractive women at parties or on beaches with young, attractive men, other girls, and slogans about empowerment and doing what you needed to do. Steve had assumed that it was about sex. Everything in the future seemed to be about sex and getting as much of it as possible as quickly as possible, and he'd somehow wound up assuming these 'tampons' were some sort of condom for girls. Possibly because, he realised now, the words were sort-of similar.

He felt so stupid.

'Steve?' Natasha's uncertain voice came through the door. She sounded like she was still crying, or about to start again. When she had asked for his help, it had sounded like she was forcing the words out against all odds. He had seen her fighting for her life, for the fate of the world, but he had never seen her - well, heard her - in such a state. She needed his help.

'Uh... will they let men buy those?'

'What?'

'It's just, Bucky tried once and-'

'In _1945_! Things have changed a little since then, Cap! Women can have jobs and everything!'

It was actually more like 1938, but Steve decided not to say that. Or anything else.

'They're just on the shelf. By the deodorant. Just pick them up and buy them and _hurry up_!'

'Alright. I'll be right back.'

 

*

 

If War was what had defined the 20th Century, _choice_ had to be what was defining the 21st. Steve hadn't failed to notice the sheer amount of _stuff_ in the future. There were hundreds of TV channels. You could go to restaurants and taste food from almost anywhere in the world practically on your doorstep. It seemed like every basic appliance and piece of furniture was customisable to exactly what you wanted. Everything came in twenty colours and shapes. There were entire shops that only sold coffee and yet still managed to have a menu full of options. If you went to Subway, you not only chose a sandwich, you had to choose how big you wanted it, and what bread you wanted it on, and what ingredients should go in the salad. The future was amazing.

But sometimes, you didn't want a customised item. You just wanted something basic to do the job, and you couldn't find it. Today was one of those occasions.

It had been hard enough even finding the correct aisle. Women's deodorants were not next to men's deodorants, but at the other end of the store, and Steve had walked past it three times because he didn't think deodorant would fall under the 'Health and Beauty' sign hanging over the aisle itself. Natasha had told him to hurry- she had been so upset- and he had wasted so much time.

And now this. There was shelf after shelf of product, all sorts of brands, different coloured packaging, brazenly displayed. Steve had no idea what a tampon even looked like. Did they come in the squishy plastic packaging? Boxes? Were they bottled?

They probably weren't bottled. Now that he looked properly, the little bottles seemed to be the deodorants. This did not help very much.

There was a member of store staff coming up the aisle with a trolley full of empty packaging from where they had restocked the deodorants, and Steve realised he was going to have to ask them. Even if they were going to want to know what he, a _man_ , was doing snooping at ladies' private things. Even if he might be recognised and have to deal with 'Captain America: Pervert' being in all the papers. Natasha needed those tampons.

'Excuse me,' he said, trying not to sound nervous or sleazy. 'I need, um, I need tampons. For my friend.'

'Right there.' The clerk barely looked at him, waving to shelving unit on his right and continuing on his way. So it was the boxes after all. This did not help very much either.

There were too many types. Different brands, but with all sorts of descriptions. Some of them seemed to have a gauge made of tear drops, but it was not any sort of scale Steve recognised. Some of them were described as 'light' or 'heavy', and they were all different colours and he didn't know if that was significant.

He didn't know what to get. Natasha needed the help but he had no idea what to get her. This was feeling a bit overwhelming.

'Wife sent you out, has she?' A wonderfully male voice asked. 'Mine usually gives me the box of the last lot she had, tells me to match them up.'

'Oh, no, she's not...' Steve trailed off, realising it didn't really matter. 'Do you, uh, do you understand any of this?'

'Just get the most expensive brand,' the man said. 'And chocolate.'

'Chocolate?' Steve repeated. He had never bought a girl chocolates in his life. Maybe he would have done for Peggy, had they been at home and not in a warzone, but buying them for Natasha felt almost intrusive, somehow, like he would be crossing a line or making assumptions.

'Definitely,' Steve's saviour nodded, showing him the large bar of Hershey's he was carrying. 'If you're sent out for tampons, always get chocolate too. Only way we can help.' With that, he picked up a box of tampons and strolled off towards the counter.

There was nothing else for it. Steve picked up exactly the same box as the man had, then raced round to the chocolate aisle. Natasha didn't really eat much chocolate, but maybe there was some medical element to it that he didn't know about. Maybe she needed it. She had been so upset. If the man was to be believed, it wouldn't be anything like a romantic gesture. It would be more like first aid.

He didn't pick up the Hershey's like the other man had. He got chocolate raisins, because he was pretty sure he had seen Natasha with a bag of them once. As he got towards the counter, though, he started to doubt himself. Surely chocolate was chocolate, and the man would have said if only Hershey's would work, but... well, until fifteen minutes ago he'd thought tampons were condoms. He was in way over his head. Steve went back to the shelf of confectionery and grabbed the same bar the man had got too. Just in case.

Steve checked his watch; Natasha was distressed and waiting for him. Nearly twenty minutes had elapsed since he had left her. He hurried to the till.

'Anything else?' The cashier asked him. He had been nervous, getting served by a lady, thinking she would tell him off for picking up women's things, but she didn't seem to care.

Feeling emboldened, Steve asked, 'Uh... well, you probably guessed these aren't for me. And I've never done this before. Does she need anything else?'

The cashier laughed and reached to the pharmacy shelf behind her, adding some boxes of painkillers to his purchases. 'You got a hot water bottle at home, sweetheart?'

'I'm not sure. I don't think so.'

She sent him off down a small aisle of household goods to find one.

'There,' she smiled. 'All set. I hope she feels better soon.'

'Me too.' He smiled back as best as he could, paid, and left the store. As soon as he had handed the bag over to Natasha, he was going to call Widow, or google women's trouble, or do _something_. He had no idea whether Natasha's level of distress was normal for women or not. He had no idea how much pain it was normal for her to be in, or whether he had got her enough tampons, or, or anything. She was a member of his team, and if she had to go through this every month, he needed to understand it, to know how to fix it. No matter how embarrassing it was, ignorance was no longer acceptable.

 

*

 

Natasha was trying to meditate, sitting on the toilet, too scared to get up because _blood-_ but no. She wasn't going to think about that. She was just going to focus on breathing in time with the steady count Jarvis was giving her, keep her heart rate down.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was being ridiculous. She had done this every four weeks since the age of thirteen, and it had never bothered her before Afghanistan. What happened to her in that cave was disgusting, yes, but it was no reason to go to pieces. She was being ridiculous.

It was just possible, some reasonable part of her brain pointed out, that she ought to have had trauma counselling after Afghanistan after all. That, whether she was Natasha Stark or not, the ordeal had effected her, and chose to manifest itself this way. She ought to get herself back on the pill, first, to stop any more surprise periods; and then get herself to therapy.

Steve still wasn't back. He probably hadn't even gone, he was _Captain America_ for goodness' sake, you couldn't just send him out to buy tampons. He'd probably faint.

But there hadn't been anyone else to ask. And he wouldn't let her down. He would be back soon, even though it had already been half an hour. How had it taken him half an hour? The store was only a ten minute walk, if that. Where was he? Why wasn't he back yet?

'Breathe, madam,' Jarvis interrupted his count. 'Your heart rate is accelerating.'

'Where's Steve?!'

'He is in the elevator. He will be here any second.'

Almost as soon as Jarvis finished the sentence, there was a soft knock at the door.

'Natasha?' Steve said. 'I got them. I'm sorry I took so long, I didn't know which kind to get so I had to-'

She ignored his blathering, pulling herself up, hurriedly fastening her pants and running to the door. She opened it a crack, snatched the bag, slammed the door shut again, and emptied the bag onto the floor, scrabbling for a tampon so she could finally, finally sort herself out.

The relief was immediate. She wasn't so dirty. Or at least, she could forget about it for a while.

She started clearing up the bathroom, seeing for the first time the bottles and jars of toiletries and make up she had scattered everywhere in her frantic search of the cabinet. And Steve had been around for that little display. Damn, she was so embarrassed. She had made him, _Captain America_ , buy tampons. She had totally gone to pieces in front of him. She was never, ever going to live this down.

As she came to move the grocery bag, she noticed the boxes of painkillers lying next to it. Steve must have got them. Natasha suddenly wanted to cry again, but swallowed two of the tablets and put the rest away. Finally, when the place was as tidy as it had ever been, she left the bathroom, dreading that Steve would still be lurking around.

He was, sitting on a couch in the lounge waiting for her.

'Hey,' he said.

'Hi.' She wanted to say _thanks_ , or _sorry you had to see that,_ or make a joke about him buying the wrong brand of tampons, but her throat seemed to have closed up. She coughed. It didn't help.

'Are you okay?'

'Yeah.'

'I got you a few things.' He sounded nervous. 'The people at the store said it would help.' He gestured at the table. Natasha looked and saw a small mound of chocolate sitting next to a hot water bottle, already filled, and wrapped neatly in a tea towel.

She looked, and to everyone's great horror, burst into tears.

Immediately, she tried to wipe them away with her hand. Steve looked downright alarmed and rocketed up from his chair, and then seemed to be unsure of what to do next, and hovered awkwardly, which just made her feel more embarrassed, because she was making such a fool of herself -

Steve pulled her into a hug.

'Don't cry,' he said, and his voice sounded so panicked and yet commanding that it came out sounding exactly the same as his orders in the middle of a battle when everything had gone wrong and he was trying to salvage the situation. Natasha laughed in a watery sort of way. She knew she ought to be even more ashamed of herself, clinging onto Steve like this, but he was so big his arms went right round her. Steve was on every side of her, holding her so close that he was almost enclosing her. She felt safe. She felt like maybe she wasn't disgusting.

He'd heard her laugh. 'Sorry,' he said, moving to let go, but relenting when she clung on. It was pathetic, but hey, she'd already embarrassed herself this much, she might as well make the most of it.

'No, it's just...' Natasha said, giggling again as she thought of it. 'It feels like we're in the field. Hawkeye, get up top. Widow, see if you can find another way out. Iron Woman, stop crying...'

Steve laughed to at that, just slightly. Steve wasn't the laugh out loud type, he usually just smiled and got bashful and ducked his head when he was amused. His laughter was all in his eyes, or so she had thought. She could feel it now, moving his chest, even though nothing came from his lips.

'You feeling okay?' He asked, and she nodded, reluctantly moving away. He squeezed her hand.

'Liar,' he said, and pushed her gently down on the couch. She picked up the hot water bottle and pressed it into her stomach. The painkillers had more or less taken care of the cramps, but the warmth felt comforting, reassuring. She felt almost normal. No more period today. But she was definitely going to eat the chocolate just as soon as Steve left so she could shove it all in at once like the Hulk.

Except Steve wasn't leaving. He'd sat back down, but still looked awkward, leaning forward on his elbows and staring at his feet.

'I'm sorry,' he said, suddenly, and Natasha blinked at him because Steve had been great and she didn't have the least idea what he was talking about. But he carried on. 'I had no idea what it was like. I didn't want to know, I never even thought about it. But you're a member of my team, and if you have to go through this _every month_ -'

Natasha finally caught on. She rolled over and buried her face in a cushion, mortified. 'Oh, no, Steve, no, stop, just stop,' she groaned. 'You _don't_ need to know. It's me. I'm just making a fuss over nothing-'

'It doesn't sound like nothing,' Steve said. 'I, uh, I've been on google.'

Laughing weakly into her cushion, Natasha decided she had never been more humiliated in her life. Before Afghanistan, she would have said that men ought to educate themselves, that women had no reason to be embarrassed about a normal bodily function, but now, _no-one_ ought to talk about periods. No-one, men or women, ever, ever, ever. It was bad enough to have to go through it, why talk about it? She even changed channels when the tampon adverts came on. And now she'd made Steve curious enough to google. Captain America had been reading about periods.

'Is it... always this bad?' Steve asked, hesitantly.

'For some people,' Natasha said, because she didn't want to explain that it wasn't that it was a bad period, particularly, but that she just couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle any of it.

Steve was silent for a minute, then, in a small, horrified voice, he said, 'But... I mean, they cured _polio_. Why hasn't anyone fixed this?'

It was an excellent question, at which point Natasha lost herself completely, laughing hysterically into the cushion, and leaving poor Steve more baffled than ever before. And then, for no reason at all that she could figure out, the laughs turned back to sobs. After a moment, she felt the couch cushions sag by her feet, and then Steve's kind, reassuring hand was making small circles on her back. She concentrated on the movement and said, 'You can have the pill. It stops you getting pregnant but it also... makes all this, better. For most people.'

'Are you taking it?' Steve asked. He kept rubbing her back. She tried to match her breathing to his rhythm, trying not to let it catch and stumble on the memories of Afghanistan.

'Used to,' Natasha mumbled. 'Before... before.'

'Would it help you?' Steve asked, quietly. Beneath his hand, Natasha felt herself go stiff. This was the moment, she knew. This conversation was hard, it was so hard, but if she missed this chance – she nodded.

'Can I get it for you?' Steve asked. She shook her head.

'Doctor,' she said, and because she knew his next question would be if he should go and get a doctor, she added, 'Wouldn't help right away anyway.'

Except it _would_. If she could just get back on the pill this whole thing would feel so much more manageable. She wished, for the first time, that she could talk about it. That she could tell Steve about the way it felt like there was a wall in front of her that she couldn't pull down, like she could see what she wanted but couldn't get there. But she couldn't stop remembering the cell, and the smell, and it was vile, it was so vile, and how could she ever confess to Steve about how disgusting she had been?

It was wrong, she knew, this way of thinking. Her kidnappers had been vile, not her. She hadn't been disgusting. But still.

Steve must have felt her body tensing, because he said, sounding considerably mortified, 'You know, up until you asked for them I thought tampons were condoms for ladies.'

At that Natasha couldn't suppress a shout of laughter, flipping over again so that she could look at him and his delightfully pink face.

' _What_?'

So Steve talked about everything, about the misleading adverts, about how things had been in his childhood, how clueless he had been, and somehow, even though they were talking about tampons, Natasha felt okay. Not completely fine, and still with a vague sense of dread lingering in the background, but okay. And the conversation followed on naturally as he told her how he had struggled in the store, and somehow it felt possible to say that any brand was fine, after not having any in Afghanistan.

And once she had said that, it was easier to say other things too, especially as Steve worked most of it out for himself. _They hadn't given her anything?_ No. _That must have been awful_. Yes. _Was that why she had stopped having the pills?_ Yes. _Did she want to go back on them?_ Yes. But.

She didn't need to say anything else. They sat, and she held her hot water bottle and ate her chocolate, and Steve put his arm round her, and they watched a movie. If she was tense with remembering, they didn't say anything. If his hands kept clenching in anger over what had happened to her, she pretended not to notice. For now, it was fine to just sit in the warm, and not think.

 

*

 

The next day, Rhodes showed up, pushed her into a car, and took her to the doctor to get a new prescription of the pill. He told her, quite firmly, that she was getting therapy. Now. Natasha agreed.

Back in their MIT days, and right up until Afghanistan, Rhodey had basically got a running commentary of her periods. It was his lot as her best friend. If she had to put up with them, he had to hear about them so they could suffer together. He said he should have noticed sooner that it had stopped.

She wanted to ask why Steve hadn't come himself, but couldn't. Except Rhodes, who knew her so well, told her anyway. Steve had been worried about her. Steve had noticed she was embarrassed yesterday. Steve had thought, if he was there, she might be too worried to get the help she needed. Steve knew they were close, and thought maybe she would be more comfortable with him.

Steve had wondered if they were dating, or interested in each other. Rhodes had corrected this notion in the strongest terms of disgust. Steve had seemed very happy, according to Rhodey.

_Very happy. Very happy. Very happy._

Natasha tried to keep her focus on that, on what that might mean, all through the difficult appointment, to still her drumming fingers and tapping feet. Steve was happy they weren't dating. Very happy.

She left, finally, with a new prescription for the pill, and an appointment for counselling.

 

 

*

 

Steve was unpacking the groceries on the kitchen counter, and put down a box of tampons in his 'bathroom' pile without giving them a second glance. Natasha couldn't help but smile at her husband when she saw them. A lot had changed since the first time she had sent him out to buy them. For one thing, he knew what brand to get her now. He always brought pads, too, for night time. These days she didn't even have to ask. A few months after her breakdown, and a few months after they had started dating, he had asked her if she'd thought about other forms of contraception, and it had turned out he'd been reading up about them. Without any embarrassment at all, they'd talked through the different options and the pros and cons, but she was still finding her period a bit difficult to handle at that point, and sticking with what she knew had seemed easiest; even if Steve was usually the one reminding her to take it. She'd come a long way since then, too. It was time for the next step.

'Steve,' she said, perching on one of the breakfast stools. 'I've booked another appointment with the therapist.'

That got his attention. He looked up from where he was putting things into the fridge, worry in his eyes. She hadn't had an appointment for over a year. She continued quickly.

'I want you to come. Well, maybe not to this one. But soon.'

'Of course,' he said, without any hesitation. He came over and took her hands, full of concern. 'Is everything alright? Are you coping okay?'

'I'm fine, Steve,' she reassured him, letting go with one hand to pick up the box of tampons and shaking it in his face. 'Look, no tears.'

Steve didn't laugh. He never did, not about that. He just smiled encouragingly and squeezed her hand.

'I booked the appointment,' Natasha said, 'Because I knew you'd tell me to.'

Now he was just confused, and she was in serious danger of being completely distracted by the cute little furrow in his brow. 'I would?'

Natasha nodded. 'I was thinking of coming off the pill. So we can try for a baby.'

Steve's breath hitched. They'd talked about kids, and she knew he wanted them, but it was always in a playful some-day-far-away sense. Except she couldn't help thinking maybe someday was now.

'Nattie,' he said, quietly. 'You don't need to do that. Even if we want kids. We could adopt, there are plenty of kids out there needing homes.'

'Yeah, I know,' Natasha said. 'And honestly, that might be the best way for us. I don't know if I can deal with-' _With having no control over her period. With not being able to skip one if she needed to. With not being sure what day it would come_. She cleared her throat and continued, 'With not being on it. But I want to think about it, at least.'

Steve was looking at her with so much emotion it was hard to think, to work out what she was feeling herself. She hooked her arms around his back, standing up to hug him.

'You okay?' She asked, suddenly worried that this was too much. After all, they hadn't talked about any of this in concrete terms. Maybe it was too much -

'I love you,' he said, and kissed her. He pulled away, just enough to speak. 'Will you marry me?'

Natasha swatted him, trying to deny the way the words made her stomach swoop. 'We're already married, idiot.'

'I know,' he said, kissing her, and she could feel him grinning between the words and the kisses. 'Just don't know how else to tell you how much I love you. You're so strong, Natasha.'

'Then show me,' she said, not sure how to respond to the second half of his sentence. He obliged, lifting her onto the counter and proceeding to demonstrate his love in a _very_ obvious manner. The box of tampons, along with most of the other groceries, crashed to the floor; and with the part of her brain that wasn't completely taken up with Steve, Natasha thought maybe he was right. She was strong. She was strong, and so, so much happier than she would ever have thought possible.

 

 

 


End file.
